


A Night in Shining Silver

by AcquaSole



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: First Time, Gentle Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise, Romance, ari's smutgift because I love her, post Arianrhod, slight matchmaking, this dude is a blushing virgin and has never seen a tiddy before in his life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:43:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23886919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcquaSole/pseuds/AcquaSole
Summary: After Dimitri's forces capture Arianrhod, a feast is thrown, a few conversations are had, and one thing leads to another.(A little push in the right direction never hurt anyone in the end)
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 17
Kudos: 144





	A Night in Shining Silver

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arihime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arihime/gifts).



> (sweats in thesis, plague time, other wips and planned gift fics, and ART I SWEAR IM ALMOST DONE WITH)
> 
> So this was born out of a very VERY interesting discord conversation after finishing the Arianrhod paralogue: 
> 
> Me: damn guys his dialogue is so shippy? First with his "oh your smile is mesmerising" and now this??
> 
> The group: you think that's shippy? That's medium shippy. Wait 'till you get to Edelgard.
> 
> Me: wHAT
> 
> And so I thought about how, in a book or whatever, this is prime fuck material right here. The scene is like, practically set up for it, and out of this sprang the ideaaaa. 
> 
> Dedicated to the wonderful arihime, girl I love you forever, your singing is outstanding, grumpus cat brings me joy, and you're just such a lovely and dedicated friend. Can't wait to see you and everyone else once the plague lifts!
> 
> To newmrsdewinter: thank you, as always, for being such a perfect and impeccable beta, and for your extremely photogenic cats, and for your laughter, and I promise I will get to the marivain soon because I'm dying to write it for you!
> 
> blarf: your knowledge is as invaluable as always, and I literally would not have known what to do with this without your input. Your palanquin, and your own gift, are in the works!!!
> 
> emma: you still haven't told me what you want hahaha

The Silver Maiden, they called it—a sprawling fortress city whose massive, time-worn walls gleamed just as beautifully as its historical namesake despite bearing witness to years of bloodshed since being completed. Its strategic location naturally made it a lynchpin in the Empire’s incursion into Faerghus (Dimitri suspected the historically sore point of House Rowe’s defection to the Kingdom played a part in its early capture). Adrestia was kind enough to have left the city relatively unscathed during the invasion, though it stood to reason that a fortification of such size and importance was far more useful to its ambitions intact. 

Still, Dimitri’s sigh was undeniably relieved when that bastard Hubert made his escape. Cheers erupted from the Kingdom forces when they realised Arianrhod was theirs. 

Festive joy was in the air as his army settled in after the hard-won battle. There was already talk of feasting well before they reached Castle Rowe, the heart of Arianrhod, and the mood was easy-going and breezy even as they scoured the place for any Imperialists that might’ve been left behind. 

Dimitri declined to entertain such notions as he locked himself in Count Rowe’s study for what he anticipated was a very, very long night ahead. There was so much to be done now that they had recaptured such a crucial location for the Kingdom’s defense: they still needed to keep searching for any leftover Imperialists, not to mention expedite the now disgraced Count’s sentence for siding with Adrestia; ; and ensuring the loyalty of the western lords, not to mention the citizenry, lay with him now that the west was practically back within Faerghus’s fold. He’d taken the liberty of digging through Count Rowe’s desk to pore over years’ worth of reports as he studiously tried to ignore the sounds of raucous celebration from the courtyard outside. 

Dedue had insisted on at least being allowed to kindle the fireplace before Dimitri thanked him in a way that wordlessly said he wished to be left alone. The fire was a great comfort as he went through documents that expounded on everything from the percentage of tax collections that went to the Empire, the number of soldiers available within House Rowe’s domain, even a rather dispassionate note of Lord Gwendal’s death in Ailell…Dimitri’s quill scratched out a well-worn tune as his pile of notes grew taller and taller. He’d have to ask Gilbert for help in sorting them out before they returned to Garreg Mach. 

Then—a sturdy knock came at the door. 

“Who is it?” Dimitri called out before he remembered, rather foolishly, that he had locked himself in and the heavy oak doors could only open from the inside. He grumbled a bit before getting up to see who it was. 

A familiar head of mint green just below his chin peered up at him, with a pair of matching eyes gazing intently into his own. Even before she was changed by the Goddess, Byleth’s penetrating stare always managed to startle him. Her uncanny habit of keeping eye contact at all times did no favours, and Dimitri suddenly felt a twinge of awkwardness trying to force his face to the side, to avoid meeting her seemingly fathomless scrutiny. 

“Oh, Pro–Byleth! It’s you.” It still felt odd calling her by her name instead of the title she was given all those years ago. The importance of titles and remembering them had been drilled soundly into his head since childhood; as a crown prince, his father said, keeping track of peerage meant keeping track of everyone’s place in the world. But Byleth’s place in the world wasn’t so easily defined, was it? From the daughter of an acclaimed mercenary, plucked out of his circle by the Church and into a teaching position for the offspring of Kingdom nobility, to being revealed as the Goddess’s Chosen One as Seiros once had been…and now, leading the Church’s forces against the Adrestian Empire alongside the Kingdom of Faerghus. “T-to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Dimitri’s mouth was unable to contain the loud yawn that suddenly wracked his frame. 

“A rare sight…” Byleth’s lips quirked up into a smile; crinkled skin around her eyes told Dimitri it was wholly genuine, and the thought warmed him just as well as the fire. 

But, bit by bit, emotion had begun to take hold of her, and the transformation had proved to be nothing short of fascinating. 

_ You look so…happy, _ Dimitri remembered saying on the day the school reenacted the Battle of the Eagle and Lion.  _ I love seeing you like this. I suppose that look on your face is just another boon from this glorious day. Perhaps the best one of all.  _

Dimitri tried to play off the sudden onset of heat in his face. “I think all of this work is just catching up to me. Pretend that yawn never happened.” 

“Absolutely not,” Byleth replied, much too casually. “You’re clearly overdoing it.” 

Ah. He should have known better than to think she’d come without a lecture prepared. 

“It’s…true that I’ve been here for the better part of the day. Dealing with official business and other such tasks…but it’s something we can’t put off. If the Kingdom is to heal, then it’s something I can’t afford to not do right away.”

“That doesn’t seem like ‘putting it off.’” Byleth pushed her chin in the desk’s direction. Dimitri realised, with a start, that night had long fallen since, and his collection of notes turned into two towers teetering precariously under their own weight. There was little he could do except awkwardly stand and wait as Byleth went over to inspect the fruits of his labour. He felt like a schoolboy all over again, and the thought of her finding a mistake sent him into a briefly embarrassed spell. 

“Dedue promised to come back with tea later,” Dimitri mumbled. 

Byleth returned the parchment she’d been reading and began to stack the towers into smaller, more manageable piles. “I passed him in the hallway not two hours ago and he told me that you ignored him, so he went back to the kitchens to keep it hot until you decided to come out.” 

“I…I’ll have to apologise then.” Dimitri lowered his head. Why the sudden twist in his stomach? “He can come now, if he wishes to, but I’m afraid that I’ll have to spend a while longer here.”

“And if I told you I’ve come to steal you away to the victory celebration?”

His jaw dropped ever so slightly, though the surprise came as no less a shock. To hear such bold words from the Pr–from Byleth…she was quite serious then, wasn’t she? Even when learning to emote back at the monastery, Byleth was never the type to joke around like Sylvain was, full of boisterous bombast; certainly nothing like Felix’s mean sarcasm, or Mercedes’ gentle teasing…Dimitri half expected Sylvain to pop out from behind the door with a loud  _ ‘gotcha!’ _

“Steal me away? That seems rather unnecessary…” He swallowed the lump in his throat. 

A victory celebration sounded tempting, he had to admit. It meant everyone was in high spirits, and there was plenty of food and drink to go around. There would be music, and dancing, comrades and friends coming together to commemorate a hard-earned win. They could afford to rest on their laurels for a night, after all they’d gone through to get to this point. 

But… 

Guilt was a feeling Dimitri knew too well. He had spent almost an entire decade of his life nearly consumed by it, even when his mask was secure and his excuses easy to use. Revenge, yes, that motivated him too, but it reached different depths compared to his guilt. Rodrigue’s death felt like someone had pulled a hood off his face. A hood that trapped him with nothing but his own heated breath and his baying calls for blood, blinded him to everything except the fiery rage that screamed for Edelgard’s head on a pike. With that hood off…the reality of just how far Dimitri’s neglect of his allies, his duties, his  _ friends _ had reached soured any potential taste of comfort.

“I'm sorry, but I cannot.” His chest clenched at the sight of Byleth’s smile fading. “Filling in the blanks of five years and several months must be done. I have to tackle this as part of my atonement.”

“Running yourself ragged isn’t going to help anyone,” Byleth said quietly. 

“Neither will slacking off.”

Her huge, pale eyes drifted to the fireplace. The embers danced in her irises, little sparks of flickering light that threw her black-hole pupils into sharp relief. “Then the least you could do is eat something. Dedue made a wonderful roast. It’d be shame if you weren’t there to try it.” 

The guilt hit back ten-fold. There he went again…disappointing everyone whether he did something or not, hurting others through his actions and inactions. Dimitri’s tongue caught in his throat as he struggled for the right thing to say. How could he possibly communicate the need for repentance? Why were the others being so  _ lenient _ with him after five years of blood-crazed madness? Even Caspar, whose Uncle Randolph he’d taunted so viciously after the defense of Garreg Mach, whose aunt was cut down by Byleth after she sought vengeance on her brother’s behalf, told him he understood and that there were no hard feelings between them. 

Then, as swiftly as the memories of bad times came, so too did the happier ones. Play-fighting with Felix and Ingrid and Sylvain when they were toddlers wielding toy swords. Trying Mercedes’ freshly baked sweets. Rousing after-dinner discussions with Ashe and Annette on the finer points of whatever lesson they’d covered earlier. 

And…

“You know…this reminds me of the time I dragged you to the dining hall. Do you recall?” Dimitri glanced up at her, tentative. 

Seeing her smile start to return, little by little, reassured him. The guilt and ghostly whispers in his ear faded to manageable levels. “I do.”

“If memory serves, that was after the mock battle between the houses. It was a wonderful time. We had just finished our mission and were invited to join in the celebration…” Those were some of Dimitri’s favourite memories: a place before war and strife, where he could forget the pain of his family. Where Edelgard was not yet a tyrannous traitor whose army ravaged Fódlan. No, they were just students back then, living carefree lives at the monastery, partaking of a generous feast (or, as Claude had put it, a ‘fairly regular feast’) amongst friends. 

If only they could turn back the hands of time to go back to those days. 

A sigh, heavy and wistful, escaped his lips. “You know, every once in a while, I do long to be part of the group as well. But do you think that it is really acceptable? For someone like me to quietly join in the merriment?” 

Dimitri very rarely allowed others to see him feeling vulnerable. He had to put up the front of a capable leader, a noble prince, because the failure to do so meant the failure to live up to the expectations of his friends, his subjects, and the legacy of the Blaiddyd line. He was all too aware of the disgraceful way he’d dragged his family name through the mud during those five years of wandering in a vengeful stupor. Acting like a wild animal instead of a man raised for royalty. But…Byleth was Byleth. She reserved her judgements, and anyone could count on her to be impartial ; she was thick-skinned enough that she didn’t take his previous, shameful treatment of her as personally as he feared, and for that, Dimitri was eternally grateful. 

Her sudden proximity prompted him to look up, and he wondered just when he’d lost track of Byleth coming over to him. 

“Of course it is. But if you ask me, you’re thinking about it too much. And everyone is waiting for you.” Her fingers stopped short of curling around his wrist, and Dimitri hoped she would go all the way and hold him. 

“You really think so?” he asked, and the weight bearing down on him eased when she nodded. “Well…if you insist. Thank you, Byleth. Now, then, let’s go. Together.”

  
  


* * *

Dedue, loyal, considerate Dedue, had a clean change of clothes and a wash basin ready for Dimitri in Count Rowe’s quarters. He noticed the way the water turned pink in the pristine white bowl as he scrubbed off his scabbed wounds. The realisation that he had been sitting in his own bloody filth for hours made him think of Byleth’s words, and the twinge of guilt returned to pinch him as he dressed. Byleth was waiting patiently outside his door all the while and said nothing as the trio descended to the party. 

Their arrival was heralded by thunderous trumpeting. Gilbert, apparently, lay in wait to announce Dimitri’s appearance with an entire military band. Dimitri was glad he kept his furred mantle and father’s cape on, if only to disguise his startled jump. Byleth’s soft nudge at his side helped him to relax as they were mobbed by jubilant well-wishers and loyalists happy to have a Blaiddyd back in power.

“Oh, he’s finally here!” Ingrid exclaimed. She set aside her tankard of beer to rush to Dimitri’s side. 

“So you came after all, Boar,” Felix drawled in his usual bored affectation. “Ready to rejoin civilisation?” 

_ “Felix,” _ Ingrid chided, but her grin stayed intact. 

Ashe looked as though he wanted to touch Dimitri, the latter somewhat disappointed when his friend refrained. Caspar, who’d been hanging around Ashe as of late, waved cheerfully, an early alcoholic flush rising in his cheeks. “That was a close call back there with Hubert! I’m glad we’re all safe and sound now that we took back Arianrhod.”

“Yes.” Dimitri paused. There was so much he wanted to say to them. So much gratitude and affection and warmth he wanted to share. “I have all of you to thank for it.”

Before he could rectify his sudden tight-lippdness, hoping to add more, Gilbert whisked him away to the seat of honour at a high table. Beautifully set with silver cutlery and cut crystal glassware, a magnificent banquet soon flowed out of the kitchens. Dedue, Mercedes, Ashe, and Manuela took charge of the food after the head cook had to be arrested for her imperialist sympathies—Dimitri felt pride bubbling up in his chest as the crowd cooed and ahhed appreciatively over their culinary prowess. There were recipes from all over Faerghus, as well as Duscur, and Dimitri longed for a tongue that could taste them all. So much luxury after subsisting on military rations on the road and small portions in Garreg Mach turned the company’s needy stomachs. But then came the crowning piece of the feast: Dedue himself bore an enormous tray heavy with charred carrots and mushrooms circling a roasted hunk of bear meat. The scent alone was enough to make their mouths water. 

Dimitri knew that Gilbert hoped he would take the time to give a speech before officially opening the festivities, but the prince hadn’t the heart for it. All those eager, attentive eyes on him…everyone from beggars to the city’s wealthiest were in attendance. What on earth could he possibly say to them that they weren’t already expecting? How could he convey the depth of his gratitude for their support, his relief at knowing they saw him as a saviour instead of a—

_ Beast, _ a foul whisper came from behind. 

Thankfully, no one seemed to notice the way he jolted in his seat. A cold prickle stung the nape of his neck. 

_ Not now, _ Dimitri tried to bargain with them.  _ Let me enjoy this for a little while longer.  _

A dark chuckle at the back of his head faded just as quickly as it appeared. 

Annette noticed her father’s attempts at nudging, and successfully convinced Gilbert to give the speech in his stead. “Father, it’s clear you’ve already got something you want to say, so why not say it yourself? His Highness should relax for the night,” she insisted.

“I—” GIlbert tried and failed to argue. His daughter still remained a difficult topic to broach, but he was getting there, slow as he was. “As you wish.”

Dimitri suddenly became aware of Byleth standing beside him, mouthing a soft ‘thank you’ to Annette as Gilbert launched into a fantastically florid soliloquy praising the strength and perseverance of the Kingdom’s forces. Dimitri ignored it to focus on Byleth’s cool gaze. Since when had she been there? Was his discomfort so obvious? He didn’t want to look sulky and unhappy at a celebration, especially not one commemorating the capture of such an important fortress. This wasn’t like Fhirdiad, where he’d been too exhausted to partake of the revelry after Cornelia’s ( _ vile, evil _ , a voice in his head hissed) death. Everyone saw the heaviness dragging his limbs down and left him alone to collapse in his old room in the castle. But here, Dimitri wanted to make an effort. If he was going to start atoning somewhere, the least he could do was show his face at parties, and festivals, and other events where the people needed and wanted their king. 

Byleth nodded at Dimitri and started to move away. His hand shot out of his own accord to stop her. She cocked her head quizzically, but Dimitri was reassured that she didn’t try to take her wrist out of his hold. 

“…Sit next to me?” His voice was small. “I…I would feel better if you did.”

“Of course I will,” came the immediate response, warmth soothing him all throughout at just how quick and easy she’d accepted. 

(Dimitri missed the conspiratorial winks the Blue Lions sent each other's way) 

He felt better enough to carve the roast at least—just as wonderful as Byleth said it was, with a rich glaze moistening the meat perfectly—and dictated that the orphans in attendance would be served first. There were discontented grumblings amongst the nobility who’d pledged themselves to the Kingdom,, though no one had the gall to contest his will. There was something uniquely heartfelt over seeing a tiny child’s face light up, initially hesitant to stand before a towering mass of a man, while accepting a meal they’d likely never had the chance to try before. 

“Thank you,” the little boy whispered, eyes shining, and Dimitri felt the voices stilling. 

Gaiety and cheer reigned throughout the night, with colourful music filling the hall and the hearth warming the castle’s stone walls. Dancing, eating, and drinking their way through the feast did wonders for morale, chasing away the fear of battle if only for a moment. A bellyful of food he wished he could taste certainly helped as well. Dedue was nothing but a master in the kitchen, and Dimitri made sure to tell him so as the tables were cleared for dessert. 

Dedue’s cheeks darkened ever so slightly at the compliment. “I thank you, Your Highness.” He excused himself briefly and returned a moment later with a tray of deeply steeped tea steaming in delicate white cups, and Dimitri’s chest clenched briefly. 

“Tea, Your Highness?” came Sylvain’s undignified snort. The buttons of his shirt were opened to reveal the top of his clavicle, a rosy splash of colour on his face indicating the beginnings of what was sure to be a wild night. At least he’d been behaving himself so far. “Sure, maybe if you’re settling in for some  _ crocheting.” _

“Sylvain,” Ingrid sighed, but there was no real bite to it. Her mood was surprisingly calm whilst watching over Sylvain, and even Dedue raised an eyebrow when she laughed at his bad jokes and puns worthy of Alois. 

Ashe inserted himself into the little crowd gathering around Dimitri’s place. Flagons of pleasantly foaming drinks tickled Dimitri’s nose with a spicy scent as the young man deposited a trayful before him. “We did find barrels of this while searching the cellars—real Brionac cider! I’ve always wanted to try some together, if that’s alright with everyone.” 

Dimitri was not a teetotaler, but he did try to pace himself even with the tiniest of sips. He’d seen what alcohol did to men, the way it loosened tongues into imprudency, lechery, or full-blown fistfights that immediately killed any merry mood. He was no drunk but he didn’t trust himself to—

A sharp pierce in his temple interrupted his doubts. No, no, he could not afford a headache right now. Not when he was here to be with his friends. Byleth’s concerned glance hurt his heart and allowed guilt to wriggle into his stomach. 

“I’d be delighted to,” Dimitri said. He reached for a flagon and made a grand show of savouring it despite the fact that his taste buds were useless. “Thank you, Ashe! Thoughtful as ever.” 

Ashe beamed brightly, about to say something until Caspar bumped into him from behind and pulled him away, raucous as ever, to join the dancers at the centre of the hall. 

“That’s our cue! See you once you feel like joining us!” Sylvain laughed, pulling Ingrid and a resolutely unenthused Felix along with him. 

Dimitri was content to merely sit back and oversee the feast; battle-weariness had set into his bones at that point and he didn’t feel like using the rest of his energy for dancing. But there was an undeniable pleasure in seeing people make merry, enjoying themselves as though they didn’t have a war knocking on their doors. This was what he and the Kingdom were fighting for. For a future with more singing and laughing and joy instead of widows screaming over dead children and lands scorched by fire and blood. This is what he needed to devote his full strength towards, if Faerghus, and Fódlan as a whole, was to recover from the Empire’s brutal onslaught. 

He turned a fond eye towards his friends, his dear comrades and loyal companions. Sylvain was making a fool of himself on the dance floor and his shirt was unbuttoned to a scandalously low degree. Felix looked as though he wanted the very earth to swallow him whole and Ingrid, astonishingly enough, allowed Sylvain to dip her low. Mercedes, sweet Mercedes, stopped by to deliver a plate of cookies made exclusively for Dimitri before joining the others with Dedue in tow. His massive stature made him stick out like a sore thumb in the middle of the festivities, but Mercedes’ gentle coaxing brought out a rare smile on his face as he started a tentative waltz with her. The entirety of the old Blue Lions class soon reunited for a wonderfully silly group dance until Caspar reduced their numbers by pulling Ashe away again. Even Felix cracked a smirk as they tittered over the obvious display of love-struck foolishness guiding the young man’s drunken, stumbling steps. 

“In th’ days of yoooooore,” Caspar sang loudly, horrendously off-kilter as Ashe’s face burst into a bright flame. “There lived a maaaaaaage…”

“Hang in there, Ashe!” Annette’s giggling shook her body so hard that she started to hiccup. 

To think that Empire-born—or at least previously Empire-aligned; Dimitri stole a glance at Petra, who’d tuned a lute to accompany Dorothea’s melody—fighters would come to their side. There was so much for them to lose, joining the Kingdom’s forces, and yet…as Caspar demonstrated with his understanding, Ferdinand’s unreserved and patient support, Petra and Dorothea’s determination…they saw something worthwhile in risking their lives and their homes to uphold his banner. Mere gratefulness was not enough for them. 

They wouldn’t have been lured to the Blue Lions in the first place if it weren’t for Byleth, however. 

Dimitri snuck a peek. Byleth’s hair shone silver in the fire’s light; her eyes were new coins, gleaming as she took in the sights and sounds of the celebration. But that smile…that gorgeous, soft smile wrinkling the corners of her eyes, such a far cry from the stony-faced blankness of before, told Dimitri she was genuinely delighted. He allowed himself a moment of weakness to keep staring in mesmerised calm. Would he be so bold as to try to hold her hand, resting so tantalisingly close to his? Lean in close to her ear and whisper choice bits of gossip if only to hear a small laugh? Dimitri held Byleth’s smiles close to his heart, and she was getting more expressive with each passing day, but he’d never heard her laugh before. Was tonight the time to try?

“This is nice,” Byleth said mildly, belying the increasingly loud thumping in Dimitri’s chest. “The march here was hard, and Hubert was a difficult opponent, but I’m glad we made it this far without any further incident.”

Dimitri swallowed. “You make it sound as if it was a mere routing expedition and not…capturing a fort of this size.”

“True.”

Her silences were becoming less prolonged as well, but Byleth was still a woman who preferred listening to speaking—which was fine by Dimitri, though it’d been awkward at first. He never quite knew what to say in order to fill quiet spaces. Now that he was older, he recognised the value in pauses, and sharing them with Byleth felt…special. 

“Ah, wait.” Dimitri leaned in ever so slightly, whispering out of the side of his mouth. “Watch Sylvain.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because when he’s feeling bold enough at a dance, it means he wants to try a fairly ridiculous vault that works on horseback, but definitely not on a dance floor.”

Sylvain picked it up from one riding lesson in Garreg Mach that somehow managed to make a big enough impression on him to try and apply its lessons elsewhere, as opposed to their previous classes. He’d made a right fool of himself at the Ethereal Moon Ball ( _ the night Byleth went to the Goddess Tower, _ Dimitri gulped) and earned himself a bloody nose and an earful from Felix for his antics. 

“Just you wait guys, I’ll definitely get it right soon!” an inappropriately cheerful Sylvain promised as Annette tended to his sopping red face. 

History repeated itself as the poor sap directed everyone to form a loose circle around him to witness his attempt: ignoring Mercedes’ worrying, Felix’s scowl, and Ashe’s cringe, Sylvain launched himself into a running jump, then an impressive mid-air twist that would’ve been halted by a safe landing on a saddle…only to land on his ankle and have his face crash onto the flagstones with a shout. 

“What did we just tell you?” Felix snarled. Dedue propped Sylvain up whilst Ashe ran off to fetch a vulnerary for the bruising sure to follow. Even Petra and Dorothea stopped their music to come over and see what the fuss was all about. Dimitri just sighed and dragged a hand down his cheek. 

(He missed the way Ashe took longer than he normally would have to get to the medicinal stores for a vulnerary, or that Dorothea had disappeared with him) 

Ferdinand graciously volunteered to haul their foolish friend up. ”I shall have him seen to and fixed in no time, I promise!” he exclaimed as he carried Sylvain off, lest his stunt might have resulted in a broken nose. The brief lull in the festivities resumed after the partygoers saw that it was merely the result of too much enthusiasm, as was wont to happen at any joyous occasion. 

“Sylvain’s…penchant for getting into trouble hasn’t really changed over the years.” Dimitri took another gulp of his cider. 

Byleth’s brilliant eyes slid to his, and she tilted her head, almost as if examining him. “He’s definitely more responsible towards you now though. Sylvain has a lot of issues to work out yet, but he’s very committed to seeing this through with you and everyone else. We can go scold him for his horseplay later, but for now it’s just good to have this time to relax.” 

“When you say that…”

“You’re still worried about what they think of you.”

Dimitri nursed her words over his drink. A familiar anxiety bubbled in his gut, but he tamped it down, tamped it down as best as he could, if only so that it couldn’t rise to his throat as bile. The celebration went on before them as if everything was alright and Dimitri wasn’t struggling against another one of his lapses. 

Byleth kept her gaze on him, hardly blinking. And then, to Dimitri’s utter surprise and delight, she took her hand in his and squeezed softly. “I know it’s difficult and we can’t expect change overnight. But while you’re clearly making an effort, a lot of times it seems you’re all too ready to put yourself down and not acknowledge your progress. If you want this…this atonement to work, then you have to stop actively backtracking and—”

“Sabotaging?”

“I was going to say ‘doubting,’ but yes.”

The heat from her calloused, blistered hand comforted him, but he removed his eyes from hers to sigh at the hall again. Dimitri was glad to see his friends unburdened by battle, by bloodshed, if only for a little while. It was the least he could do for them. “I can’t just pretend things are…back to how they were.”

“No, we can’t.” Byleth tapped him to regain his attention. “And maybe this is repetitive at this point, but it doesn’t matter. We’ll keep saying it as many times as we have to because needing reassurance isn’t wrong, and we all care about you. So maybe you’ll have some lapses, or three, but as long as you can keep to the path you’ve decided on, we’re all here to support you through it.” 

Dimitri’s mouth began to twitch—unsteady, uncertain at first, but it soon turned into a real, full-bodied smile that barely revealed the edge of his teeth beneath his lips. He didn’t say anything in reply. Having Byleth reciprocate was proof enough of her understanding. 

He hadn’t meant to, but Dimitri overheard a few reasonably soused soldiers singing to themselves at the far end of the table. Their armour indicatedthey were Fhirdiad forces, enjoying their victory for the night. “Couldn’t believe we managed to capture the Silver Maiden!” the older one laughed.

“I’ll say! With that Hubert at the helm…” His younger companion shuddered.

“Don’t you worry, lad. We’re alive, we’re watered and fed, and we’re here to celebrate another battle won. Cor! The Silver Maiden though!”

“It’s not the only maiden I’d like to take tonight.” The soldiers then began to wink and blow kisses to a group of women dancing close by, and the ladies giggled and flirted right back.

The sight of such open, bold wantonness made Dimitri swallow, and he averted his eyes shyly. He hoped the Goddess’s changes didn’t include any type of telepathy. He wasn’t the sort to drunkenly chase after pleasure at a feast, but…

Byleth was just looking so pretty, and warm, and s _ weet _ in the fire. He couldn’t quite pinpoint the exact moment where admiration turned to affection turned to…something dangerously deeper than that, but the only certainty he knew was that having her by his side made him happy. Where he’d almost given up on himself, Byleth stood fast and refused to budge during his attempts at distancing. When he teetered at the brink, she stubbornly reached out to haul him back. The Blue Lions gave him their friendship and loyalty, but Dimitri felt that those would be too little to describe what quickened his heart in her presence. 

He would be lying to himself if the men’s words didn’t tighten his chest in a hot, excited twist. Feasts were for unions, for celebrating, for lowered inhibitions. Would Byleth…want something like that with him? He certainly hoped so. Dimitri admired the curve of her neck in the light, the way it dipped into the low cut of her neckline—the subject of many a nervous schoolboy’s blush back in the day—and pictured himself pressing kisses onto her skin. Pictured her curling her hand into his hair and urging him harder for  _ more.  _ And then she would— 

Blinding white pain cleaved right through his temple, and Dimitri’s head dropped into his clenched palms as he panicked. No, no, he couldn’t afford an episode right now, please no—

_ You’re getting awfully comfortable tonight, _ Glenn’s voice rasped in his ear.  _ My father is dead, having taken a blow meant for you, and here you are, drinking without a care in the world.  _

“Dimitri?” He vaguely heard her voice, as if underwater. 

_ I wouldn’t have tried to attack him if he hadn’t tortured my brother like the savage animal he is, _ the girl snickered. 

Patricia came next, and the very sound of her made Dimitri want to vomit.  _ There is nothing worth saving in him. Never was. Whatever they’re saying…all lies. All this talk of redemption and atonement is nothing but meaningless prattle, and the proof’s in his disgusting line of thought.  _

_ Can’t even sit next to someone without thinking like the dirty, depraved monster he is, _ Glenn sneered, his laughter joining in with the rest of his ghosts’ to pound away at his aching head, and chip away whatever remnant of peace Dimitri tried to have that night. 

Suddenly, he was outside. The sky glittered coldly with a lack of torchlight to dampen its stars. Refreshingly cool air breathed life back into his lungs, and Dimitri gulped in mouthfuls of it, his heartbeat settling little by little. 

“Back with us?” came Byleth’s voice from below. 

Her enormous green eyes reminded Dimitri of a cat’s, and not for the first time, he mused if her powers included seeing in the dark. He hoped they didn’t. He couldn’t bear the thought of Byleth seeing the way red-hot shame coloured his cheeks, not after realising she carried him out of the hall during another one of his relapses…especially not with the type of thinking that led him to it in the first place. Dimitri squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to chase away the images of her disrobing and smiling for him, kissing him back and whispering soft things into his ear, palming him through his trousers with a loving look on her face. 

“I…I’m so sorry,” was all Dimitri could gasp. 

“Breathe,” Byleth coaxed. “Everything’s going to be alright.”

Inhale, exhale, inhale. Dimitri’s chest rose and fell steadily along with the sounds of insects chirping in the manicured bushes and the distant din of the ongoing party. Little by little, his head drooped until Byleth was supporting his weight. She wound her arms beneath his cape and mantle to stroke his back. The motion soon had Dimitri’s headache ease into something more manageable; it had been quite some time since someone had touched him like that, and the action proved quite comforting. 

“Better?” she prompted. 

“Yes. A little.” Her hair tickled Dimitri’s nose as he shifted his cheek to not put so much pressure on her head. There was a part of him, deeply embarrassed, that urged him to move along and stop with the familiarity of their embrace; but there was another side, tired of denying his wants, that found relief in being able to touch. Dimitri sighed as his own arms tightened around Byleth, one hand at the nape of her neck, the other resting on her shoulder blades. “You shouldn’t have to run to my side every time I…every time I have a lapse.”

“You would do the same for all of us. We all care for you. I care for you.”

“It’s thankless, rotten work, having to look after me like this. I’ll run you all ragged in no time at all.”

“Far more likely that you hurt yourself by keeping up this pattern of distancing, and being afraid of letting us help. We’ll keep doing this as much as we need to, Dimitri.” 

_ I know, _ he didn’t say. Settling for giving into his sad little urges by pulling Byleth closer felt like the easy way out. But it was a nice option, Dimitri decided. The soft scent of her hair against his skin and her hands on his back proved to be a far greater aid than the cider back in the hall. Maybe it was blasphemous to be holding the Goddess’s Chosen One so personally…especially since his parallel was closer to Nemesis. The dark would always drag down the light in the end no matter how bonded the two were. And yet, having his friends at his back, and with Byleth at his side…Dimitri felt hopeful. 

They embraced for a long time. 

A scuffle from the edge of a wall had Dimitri pulling Byleth behind him into the privacy of a lush shrub, though she poked her head through to see what the commotion was all about. They waited with slightly baited breaths, squinting into the night, to see that Caspar was dragging Ashe with a hand fisted tightly into his tunic, the noise being the latter’s stuttering as his clothes scuffed against the castle’s masonry. 

“Y-you,” Caspar slurred, and Dimitri shared a startled look with Byleth. “Why’d ya leave me a-a-alone back there, Ashe?”

“I wasn’t gone for long. I needed a bit of a breather, anyways.” Even in the dark, they could practically hear the hard bob of the young man’s throat. 

“L-liar. I felt ssso lonely…”

“Caspar, you’ve been drinking too much, come on—”

“No, Ashe! C-can’t a guy let lloose once in a while? I-I was jussht—wash hard here, y’know? I was ssho relieved to see you alright after the fffight…just so h-happy and I thought we could…spend quality time together. A-and I…I misshed ya, alright?”

Byleth’s lips started to curl into an endeared smile as they watched the other pair grasp at each other. Dimitri blinked. He knew Ashe and Caspar had struck up a tentative relationship after their five-year reunion, but he most certainly hadn’t expected to bear witness to an entire starlit tryst. 

He glanced at Byleth and gulped heavily. 

Ashe calmed Caspar with soft petting, allowing the other man to press up against his chest and rest his head on his neck with a sigh. “It’s okay, Cas. I just had to…uh…well, I’ll explain later. But we’re together now, right? We can spend all the time we want to for the night. Just you and me.”

“R…really?” Hopeful could not even begin to describe the glitter in Caspar’s voice. “Aw, Ashe.  _ Finally _ .”

There was a sudden yelp and a terribly loud scrape of cloth against stone. Dimitri’s eye squinted further into the night, and then he immediately regretted it once the picture of Caspar shoving his hand deep into Ashe’s quilted pants burned itself into his mind. The men’s shoes bumped and slid across the floor as they scrambled to right themselves in the midst of their passion. 

“C—Cas!” Ashe groaned, and Dimitri had to force himself to look away from their private moment. But he’d be damned if he didn’t admit that the  _ noises _ they were making weren’t stirring something uncomfortably hot in him, and especially so soon after grappling with his own indecent musings. Dimitri gave a start when he realised Byleth, too, stared into the dark, her jaw open in quiet astonishment as she watched Caspar’s aggressively enthusiastic fondling. 

Ashe ended the moment by throwing his arms around Caspar’s middle, hauling him up in a bridal carry, and sprinting off around the corner. 

Crickets filled the air. 

Dimitri’s eye slid to Byleth, as if to ask if the spectacular burst of passion hadn’t been some feverish figment of their imagination, only to swallow when he beheld her face: lips drawn together tightly, skin a brilliant pink, and those huge green eyes blown wide. 

“I think…” he said. His mouth tasted like cotton. “…I think I will retire for the night.”

“I’ll go too,” Byleth muttered a little too quickly. 

  
  


* * *

Torchlight flickered in the sconces set every few intervals into the castle walls. In hindsight, Dimitri would have preferred a dimmer atmosphere, if only to hide his red cheeks. The few servants he encountered were so concerned about his appearance that they offered to fetch a healer for him, and declining only made the burning in his face worse. Byleth trailed behind, close enough between him and the walls that his bulk and the drapery of his cloak hid her from view—it wouldn’t do for people to look at his blush, assume her presence had something to do with it, and then have rumours running wild before sunrise. 

Then again, she was partially to blam for the…events leading up to this. 

Dimitri groaned under his breath. Indirectly or not, it always led back to Byleth: taking him away to the feast, his predictable downward spiral of thought coupled with his damnable self-loathing, Byleth pulling him out for air, and witnessing Caspar and Ashe’s little moment. That wasn’t even factoring in his own blatantly risqué ideas towards her. It was like Dimitri was left to navigate raging rapids on his own with nothing but a stick and a hasty prayer to the Goddess. 

_ Don’t be daft, _ a voice in his head scolded. He was pleasantly surprised to hear that its tone was more lukewarm than the ones of his other ghosts.  _ It doesn’t happen overnight. And besides, how many times do you have to be told that you’re not alone?  _

He snuck a glance at Byleth, apparently deep in her own mind. ‘Flustered’ was hardly a word Dimitri would think to apply to someone who’d garnered a number of intimidating titles over a short lifetime—the Bladebreaker’s Daughter, the Ashen Demon, Professor, acting Archbishop, the Goddess’s Chosen—and yet, with her lip being chewed so firmly and her eyes determinedly staring ahead, he would almost think Byleth was embarrassed. 

It was a terribly human moment. Dimitri felt utterly endeared. 

“It’s been a long day for everyone, so no one will mind if we just stay in for the morning. We’re all in need of some good rest,” Byleth finally spoke up when they arrived at Count Rowe’s door. Dimitri was fascinated by her twiddling thumbs and the shy half glance sent his way. When he realised he’d been staring, he cleared his throat loudly. 

“Y-yes. Though I suspect some might not awaken until well-past noon.” A little thrill zinged him when Byleth chuffed, amused, at his joke. It wasn’t a laugh like Dimitri had hoped for, but there was at least groundwork for future tries. 

_ You absolute fool, _ a whisper scolded harshly.  _ Moping not too far ago and now smiling like an idiot. How is it possible to swing so quickly between moods? _

_ Be _ quiet, he growled back, to his complete astonishment.

The voice retreated with a grumble. 

Byleth tapped his elbow, questioningly. “Everything alright?”

Dimitri had apparently been gazing off into the door of his temporary quarters, in complete silence, with Byleth waiting patiently for him the entire time. Judgmental she was not, but he rather preferred not to be caught in a constant cycle of fumbling around with her to witness it. Good goddess, he really needed some sleep. “Sorry, I got lost in my thoughts again. But…I’m glad you convinced me to attend the feast. It was nice. And seeing everyone so happy and carefree again was well-worth putting off the paperwork.”

Though her smile wasn’t as wide as the ones worn during the banquet, it still lit a comforting warmth inside Dimitri, and it emboldened him enough to take her hand in his with a little squeeze. Yes, that was worth it too. The slight tilt of her head looked positively coquettish. He wondered if Sylvain would’ve deemed this the right moment to ply Byleth with flowery compliments, silly goodnight partings wishing her a restful night, or whatever other nonsense he dredged up from the torrid novellas he picked up in markets coupled with his own dubious romantic experiences. Whatever worked best for the sudden thumping in Dimitri’s chest. 

“Sleep in tomorrow,” Byleth said. Her eyes were so sweet in the half-light. “You deserve it.” 

“As do you. Thank you, for…for everything, really.” The lowness of his voice proved a most wonderful surprise, if at least to see her averting her gaze ever so slightly. 

He was positively thrilled that they were at the hand-holding stage. 

Dimitri would have been perfectly content to leave it at that: bid her good night, step into Count Rowe’s room to prepare for bed, and drift away to tender, chaste thoughts of a slow and measured courtship. Perhaps recreating a scene or two in his head from one of Ashe’s books might have sufficed to send him off to pleasant dreams. But Dimitri would be lying if he said the certainty of the direction he wanted to take now with the promise of their joined hands didn’t zing his heart into a stuttering, fluttering mess. The Silver Maiden herself must have been smiling kindly on him tonight. 

…Was what he was thinking right before stepping into the…the absolute  _ disaster _ that stopped him in his tracks. 

Not an inch of carpeting was to be found under the mountain of fragrant rose petals—oh good gods above, there were petals on the desk, on the windowsill, around the hearth, on  _ the bed _ . A fire roared seductively in the fireplace and a plush bear pelt rug lay before it, also dripping in damned petals. Dimitri sniffed aghast; a spicy sort of perfume that was definitely not rose drifted subtly in the air…it reminded him vaguely of Dorothea. The fire was the only source of light, especially with how resolutely the drapes had been tied together over the wide windows. Someone had snuck in there with the intention of preparing his quarters for a night of passionate debauchery so floridly described in Sylvain’s trashy novels. Someone, somehow, had it in their minds that this very room would play host to…acts of unspeakable carnality. 

Sylvain’s silly stunt at the feast didn’t seem so innocent anymore. 

The bed…the bed was the worst off. Sheets stripped, pillows immaculately fluffed, and, to Dimitri’s utter horror, a pair of silken condoms resting smack dab in the middle of it all with a pot of lubricant waiting to be opened. 

_ And there was a note.  _

Dimitri’s hands shook—rage or shame, he couldn’t quite tell—as he unfolded the paper to reveal Sylvain’s cheeky scrawl winking up at him from the snowy white grain. 

_ Thought you might need a little push in the right direction! You can thank me and the others and then dish out all the dirty, dirty details later over some drinks. Beer’s on me tomorrow! Your most humble friend: Sylvain José Gautier.  _

A rouged kiss mark decorated a postscript Dimitri most certainly did not want to read. The others, it said. Sylvain had help in defacing his room. Dorothea, most likely, now that the perfume came to mind, but the thought of someone like Felix, Caspar, or, worse, Ashe and Annette and _ Ferdinand _ had a hand in all this made him sink to the floor with a despairing moan. 

“Everything all right?” Byleth called from the door. 

Dimitri’s heart stopped. 

She picked her way delicately through the explosion of petals, and seeing her so inscrutably blasé over the massacred state of the room made his heart sink to the very bottom of his intestines. No no no…just when he’d managed to piece himself back together after his relapse at the feast, even. Now the traitors calling themselves his comrades, his  _ friends _ , had cornered him into a situation so unspeakably dire that he rather felt like curling up into a ball and dying right then and there. 

Byleth swept a few stray petals off her boots, raising an eyebrow. “You were expecting company tonight?”

_ “Absolutely not,” _ Dimitri managed to choke out. Gods, his hands were shaking. Forget the stick analogy—rather, Sylvain and his co-conspirators might as well have tossed him, headfirst and naked, into a waterfall. To have Byleth bearing firsthand witness to it, especially after his earlier train of thought, had him praying for Sothis herself to smite him off the face of the earth. 

“I take it then that this must be some elaborate joke.” Byleth knelt and started scooping up some petals into her hands. “Someone sure had a lot of time to pull this off while we were out.”

He would have Sylvain’s head for this, Dimitri decided. He blushed when he realised he’d said that bit out loud. Goddess above, that smiting was desperately needed. His hands cupped his face to muffle the unhappy soft groan that escaped. 

Byleth tapped his shoulder gently, Dimitri’s tightly wound nerves propitiating a pathetic little jump on his part. He eyed her as she shrugged and merely set to collecting the petals into an increasingly larger pile. No judgement. No fuss. Just a small quirk of her lips as she wordlessly set herself to the task at hand, and Dimitri managed to ease himself well enough to join her. Floral softness lent a gentle, easy scent to the air as they swept, brushed, and scoured every inch of the room. An impressive red hill bunched up beside the desk was then painstakingly scooped out through the window. The pair settled themselves on the floor up against the bed, sighing. 

“Thank you, as always. I’m sorry you were mixed up in such an… _ unseemly _ situation.” Dimitri coughed lightly into his hand. He willed his eyes not to stray to the hint of Sylvain’s ‘gift’ peeking at them from the sheets. 

“You know I’d always do anything to help; just say the word and I’ll come running,” Byleth said, reaching for his wrist again. 

Those little touches…so many in just a single night! And those words…dare he dream? Despite his comrades’ horrendously meddlesome interference, Dimitri was not so dense as to not recognise an opportunity staring him in the face. He was close to Byleth, literally and figuratively; she’d been wonderfully physical with him the entire night by holding hands and sharing an embrace; they managed to wave off a potential disaster with no hard feelings between them. With the added weight of him confiding in her that rainy evening after Gronder Field…Dimitri could sense a door opening before them. It would be so easy to turn the knob and—

He sighed, resting his head on the mattress. “You shouldn’t overextend yourself for things beneath you.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, and Dimitri felt her mirroring his action. “‘Beneath me’ in what way?”

“Well…I would be lying if I said I didn’t value your time, but others have need of you as well. I can’t go stealing you away for every little thing when you’ve an army to look after, our friends, and searching for Rhea.”

“Spending time together doesn’t mean I’m neglecting everyone else.” Byleth sounded a bit hurt. 

“N-no, that’s not what I…what I meant to say is…someone of your stature shouldn’t be reduced to cleaning up after my messes, or whatever silly thing Sylvain’s cooked up and roped the others into.”

“‘Stature?’ Dimitri…” she turned to him, brows furrowed, lips pouting. Her next words were exceedingly, excruciatingly patient. “…I think you’re building me up into something I’m not.”

A log cracking in the fireplace made Dimitri jump; unfortunately for him, it also meant turning to get a good, long look at Byleth. The fire’s backlight haloed her hair, almost silvery white, and the shades flickering across her face made her eyes pop, all sharp green and black drawing him in. Such intensity brought on a swallow. He didn’t want to read too much into her glancing at his throat. 

Dimitri inhaled, hoping his speech would come out as calm and collected as he wanted it to. “I wouldn’t expect someone dubbed the Ashen Demon, the acting Archbishop of all things, to be satisfied with chasing after stray flower petals. Or witnessing, uh, highly inappropriate…pranks.”

“Well, Byleth Eisner is. She’s perfectly happy to do them with you,” she huffed. 

The rhythmic thump-thump of Dimitri’s heart almost suffocated him. The door of his thoughts suddenly blew wide open, blinding him with that shining promise, just within his grasp—like her hand now laced tightly with his. 

Soft breathing, he reminded himself. The mattress was a welcome support for Dimitri’s heavy limbs, bearing the weight of an exciting prelude of what was to come. He wanted this. Dreamt of it. Thought of it at the feast. He’d been so worried and fearful of overstepping the threshold that kept his relationship with Byleth neatly divided into comrades-in-arms, and now the prospect of tearing that bearrier down, ready to face the consequences, didn’t feel so daunting anymore. 

It was now or never. 

“In that case, I hope Byleth Eisner can forgive Dimitri Blaiddyd for dragging her into such a mess anyways,” he joked. This new-found boldness certainly felt nice. To feel her reciprocating the squeeze of his hand nearly sent him into a tizzy. “Such things shouldn’t become a regular occurrence.”

Byleth played along with a little nod, and a smile, and when she scooted closer, he almost swooned. “I’d heard the Prince of Faerghus was a stickler for propriety, but…” then she glanced away. “…I…don’t think this Eisner person would mind that…as long as it’s with him.”

Wait. 

_ What? _

How terrifying that mere words had the power to punch the very wind from his lungs! Breathing suddenly escaped Dimitri. All he could do was stare dumbly. Stare at Byleth’s smile, suddenly painted over with a red blush, stare at the shy little hunch of her shoulders as she pressed herself closer. Her hand loosened from his grip to slide up his bare wrist tentatively. 

Byleth was… _ propositioning _ him? What happened to his musings of taking it slow? Yes, Dimitri had entertained positively lascivious thoughts at the banquet, but those were fantasies—safely tucked away into the deepest recesses of his mind, away from prying eyes that would know his shame. Those were not to be mixed with the lighter fancies of stolen glances and timid pecks hidden in the shadow of a doorway. Now though?  _ Byleth _ had taken the initiative, and all Dimitri could do was let his mouth fall in slack-jawed disbelief. 

Byleth was interested in him. 

Byleth was interested in him. 

_ Byleth was interested in him.  _

“But how…? We’ve only just started holding hands…” Dimitri said very eloquently. 

She moved away, and he immediately missed her warmth. “I’m…still getting the hang of expressing myself better. I can see that I was too forward, then. I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable—”

“You could never make me uncomfortable, Byleth,” he stammered. His hands shot out to chase hers and he drew them closer, allowing himself the reprieve of her touch. “It’s, I-I—”

_ I would be a liar if I said I didn’t want this, because I’ve wanted this for a while now. I wish I could’ve made my intentions known sooner. _

_ It’s so warm and comforting by your side. Having that warmth, if only for a little while, brings me such peace.  _

“I—I—I…” Dimitri’s hands shook over Byleth’s. He bit his lip. The weight of his words choked his windpipe; he was so close, so terribly close to crossing that threshold, and so terribly afraid of botching it all. 

_ You have no idea how happy it makes me to learn that you want me too.  _

“I’ve…never actually done this before,” he admitted with a sigh. 

Byleth blinked, owlishly. She cocked her head. “Oh. That’s it?”

Dimitri blinked back. 

Sexual matters weren’t some arcane mystery: he’d touched himself like most young men; he knew how pregnancies resulted, seen more than a few people sneaking off to Manuela while at Garreg Mach (and then some others to the clerics while on the march). He’d heard things during his time at the monastery—Sylvain’s lurid novels, crude jokes, and completely unnecessary retellings of his raunchy escapades gave the Blue Lions more than their fill, hard as Felix and Ingrid tried to shut the redhead up. And well…being on the run later didn’t exactly make for very exciting masturbation fodder. Or the ghosts in his head screaming to have their revenge. Being presented with the opportunity to finally consummate a long-held yearning was not the same as knowing what to  _ do _ with it. 

So much for the hand-holding stage. 

“If you don’t want to,” Byleth murmured gently, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Dimitri’s ear, “then we won’t.”

The tent that popped up in his trousers, responding to her touch and his overstimulated imagination, begged to differ. Byleth’s eyes flickered briefly to it. 

Dimitri gulped. “I…I want to. I just…do not really know how.”

“Would you like me to show you?”

A tiny gasp hitched in his throat; his pants felt much, much tighter all of a sudden. That smile of hers was back, but it was growing, curling up so tentatively that Dimitri was desperately tempted to forgo an answer altogether in favour of just kissing her—he’d given and received kisses from one or two brief relationships in Garreg Mach, so at least Dimitri had some practice in that area. Memories of awkward schoolyard dates paled in comparison to the wonderful sensation of giving in and cupping the back of Byleth’s head gently to pull her in, and the feel of her lips against his was nothing short of miraculous. 

Firelight danced to the distant tune of the celebration, still ongoing. Far better was the heat from their bodies and the sweet little noises they made as they angled their faces slightly to better breathe. Slight wetness broke through the seam of their mouths, an invitation, he realised, so Dimitri opened his lips ever so slightly to deepen the kiss. It felt strange to have such softness when he’d seen her steely and tough in countless battlefields. The best kind of strange. 

Byleth broke apart with a whispery sigh. He followed her mouth, not quite willing to end it just yet, and the gusty little chuff that washed over his face was less a chastisement and more an acknowledgement as she rested her brow against his. 

“Is it alright if we start?” The green of her eyes practically glowed. 

Dimitri didn’t trust himself to talk at the moment, preferring to nod and sit up on the bed when Byleth tapped his hip meaningfully. First hand hold, first kiss, second wholly enveloping embrace…were Dimitri not so caught up in the giddiness of his fantasies realised, he really would have been much more worried about the whirlwind pace of their relationship. In the end, he cared far more about the fact that it meant they were  _ in _ some kind of a relationship now. 

She sat beside him; her weight sinking the mattress further down tightened the coil in his stomach. Sylvain’s novels did a rather poor job of accurately capturing the spine-tingling excitement, or the way the hairs at the back of his neck stood up in anticipation. No amount of half-formed dreams could compare to the then and now of Byleth smiling just for him and tucking a hand into his again. She reached up to place her fingers right at the edge of his jaw. Dimitri leaned into them with a shaky breath. 

“What do you want?” she asked. “What do you like?”

_ Anything and everything you have, _ he did not say. He wished he could be bold enough to skip over his nervousness and get right to satiating the desire that knotted the ropes of his guts. “I don’t know.”

“Can I take off your shirt?”

“Yes.”

Byleth was so gentle with him. She popped the buttons out of their holes one by one with utmost care, focusing on his face all the while, always smiling, parting the placket open slowly. Dimitri allowed himself to settle a trembling hand on her hip and tried to steady his breathing. He almost fainted when Byleth eased the shirt off by sliding her hands down his arms, drawing a nail up from the edge of his trousers to the dip of his neck. 

“You’re very handsome,” she said, beaming. “And you have a nice body.”

Simple enough flattery that would have surely had Sylvain scoffing at its barebones construction, but to Dimitri, it read like the most artfully devised poetry. He…had put on weight recently, hadn’t he? War meant rationing; everyone had to make do with whatever they could find, but Dimitri ignored food in favour of skulking about the cathedral, letting himself waste away to match the ghosts in his wake. But here was Byleth calling him  _ handsome _ and stroking his skin with that smile, undressing him, wanting him. He couldn’t muster a reply to save his life, managing a simple grunt through his beet of a face. 

“I’m going to keep going, alright? You let me know if I should stop.”

Dimitri nodded slowly. It was all he could do as heat threatened to consume him, watching her explore the planes of his chest, his stomach, the sides of his ribs. He jumped when Byleth reached a nipple and looked to him for permission. 

“D-do whatever you like. Please.” Swallowing felt like trying to pass a rock. “Y-you needn’t ask much, because I…know you will…be mindful.”

Goddess above, he really was an expert in laying it on thick, wasn’t he?

Byleth reassured him with a quick little peck to the corner of his mouth, the gesture leaving Dimitri wanting to kiss again. Seeing her drag her lips down to his nipple sent a shock of blood running right down to his groin, and he clenched his fists tightly in the sheets at the wonderful, breathtakingly new sensation of teeth pulling skin. When her tongue swept out, it was all Dimitri could do to not slam his thighs together. Sothis help him, he couldn’t cum now, not when they were barely getting started. 

Dimitri found himself sinking helplessly down until the bed caught up with his back. Far better for her than hanging half off the mattress to reach all his corners and points, he mused vaguely. Surrendering to the bliss of her lips and her teeth and her tongue scraping and trailing over his abs and pectorals came far more easily than previously thought. Byleth was so good at wrenching little puffs of breath with each soft touch, air cooling her saliva on his skin. And then when she hovered above to suck on his nipple, hand pressing agonisingly firm on the way down to the edge of his trousers—

He seized her wrist, breathing hard. “Please.” Dimitri’s voice was reduced to a whispered rasp. “You too. I need to see you too.”

“You will,” Byleth replied, and she kissed him again. 

Her shirt was thrown away with far less consideration compared to his. In spite of its low cut, the brassiere worn beneath wasn’t very flattering, leading Dimitri to remember some far-off conversation he’d accidentally eavesdropped on, girls at the academy lamenting the limited selection of pretty underthings for the more well-endowed. That thought immediately flew out the window once it came off and he got a good look at Byleth’s breasts: heavy, large, and exposed just for him. Slight discomfort between Dimitri’s legs made him realise he was getting a bit too hard. No, he had to prolong this. He sat up and reached out to palm one shyly, remarkably soft on his damaged skin. Byleth sighed appreciatively and nudged his legs open to settle herself in the crux of his arm. She tilted back to kiss the underside of his jaw, and then returned to his lips while he drew her close and used his free hand to fondle to his heart’s content. 

Letting desire guide him helped immensely, Dimitri realised. There was more certainty to be found in letting thoughts flow from shadowy corners of a long-repressed imagination to become action bringing a blush to pliant skin. To think that a woman of her calibre allowed him the privilege of playing out those sorts of things together…!

Byleth pulled away with a tiny wet pop of her lips. “I think we should take care of that soon.”

A stain, small but certainly noticeable, appeared on the light threading of his garments. Dimitri’s previous confidence vanished immediately. “A-ah.”

“We can stop at any time. Don’t worry.” 

“…Could you…take that off for me as well…?”

“Yes.” Another kiss helped soothe his frazzled nerves. “Just lie back and I’ll take care of the rest.” 

_ ‘I’ll take care of the rest!’ _ In Sylvain’s novels, the tall, brooding rake was chosen to dish out saucy quips, leading their blushing flower of a partner down the path of sexual experience. Dimitri outclassed Byleth in almost every conceivable physical parameter—and his callously cruel behaviour from before would easily designate him a scoundrel—yet  _ he _ was pressed nervously against the sheets, not the woman who had to stand on tiptoes to barely reach his head, whose deceptively small hands undid the flap of his trousers so tenderly. Dimitri’s neck ached as he strained to keep his eyes on her. 

The sight of those hands curling into his clothes to pull them down did unspeakably violent things to his heart, all loud, hot blood racing through every single vein. Byleth’s silvery warmth looked so out of place on him. Ethereal, even. Dimitri preferred the old tales of willowy nymphs and goddesses taking on human lovers, wayward knights or wise kings, to couple together in sacred groves. They suited her far better; smutty books couldn’t possibly dream of mustering the appropriate vocabulary needed for a creature like the Ashen Demon. He felt pleasantly, embarrassingly spoiled with the reverence she treated him with once his underclothes came off. 

Dimitri hoped (a bit immaturely) that she’d find his size to her liking. 

She kissed him deeply before pulling apart to reach for the lubricant. “Our friends can be nuisances, but this is useful.” 

He swallowed and nodded. 

Byleth scooped out a rather generous amount of some substance that made a nervous thread pull his breath taut and thin—wasn’t that excessive? She massaged it expertly between her fingers, on her palms, and for a moment jealousy pricked Dimitri. How many times had she done this before? With who? Would he even measure up to the standards set before him?

She noticed his grimace, because of course she did. Byleth smiled and leaned down to kiss him. The tug on his lips from her teeth stole his thoughts away. “Tell me how hard you want me to go.” 

“Uhhhhhhh…” was his very eloquent response. “…do…whatever you want.” 

That’s right. Dimitri had nothing to fear. Byleth wanted him, she said it outright; he was naked on a bed with her, she was getting ready to _touch his_ _penis_ and possibly then switch right to all sorts of salacious, mind-numbingly pleasurable positions—

—Nothing in his daydreams could have ever hoped to compare to the moment Byleth grasped the base of his cock and straddled him. No worshipful verse, no lewd sentence came remotely close to the cradle of her hips pressed against his skin, soft and hard and hot all at the same time, and then she cupped his balls so very very carefully while her other hand started to slide firmly against his shaft and head—

Dimitri came on the third pump. 

It took a few good moments for him to process what happened before the embarrassment fully hit. Sothis above in her blue star, he really hadn’t been able to last? At all? Dimitri could picture Sylvain infuriatingly well at the moment, incredulous at first, then laughing at his predicament. Byleth’s previous lovers surely hadn’t disappointed her like this. How could he have ever hoped to compete? 

Her hands were still slippery with lubricant as she leaned over Dimitri’s body, pulling herself up to reach his face. She eased the pained grimace away from his lips and eye with soft kisses, deep kisses, murmuring praise and reassurances and tender flattery as his eye tried to focus on her. “I’m glad I was able to treat you like that,” she said. 

No judgements. No fuss. 

A shaky smile trembled on his lips as he sat up. Byleth didn’t look displeased as she met his gaze steadily; her hands rubbed wet circles onto his sides and she rested her chin on his chest. He reciprocated and felt his bruised ego inflate at her appreciative sigh. 

“I want to treat you too,” Dimitri whispered, cupping her face and rubbing her cheek. 

“You’ll be very good to me. You’re always so considerate.” She leaned in to kiss him again, and his heart thrilled at how hard she pulled him in for it, lips and tongue crashing together in such a way that could only be described as  _ passionate _ . 

“Anything for you.”

Byleth rearranged herself to sit between Dimitri’s open legs, tugging him to circle her waist (he marveled at the texture of a gnarled old scar there) and leaned back into the solid wall of his body. His damned Blaiddyd strength often proved to be difficult to manage, but now, he very much appreciated the support he provided. She prompted Dimitri to give her his hand, palm up, so she could slather it with lubricant. The cold sliminess made him frown slightly. 

“Isn’t that…a bit much?”

“No such thing as too much lubricant, trust me on this.”

There wasn’t much time to ruminate on whatever Byleth meant by that—more pressing matters, like her bottom against his cock, demanded his immediate attention. She squirmed into an easier position into his left arm so that he cradled her, and spread her thighs open to tuck his hand into impossibly soft folds of skin. 

She was wet, and his fingers slid easily against her, Dimitri thought with a swallow. Sylvain’s ( _ stop thinking about him, gods! _ ) nastier observations included remarks on the singular joy of ‘feeling up a nice loose woman,’ but this felt far too intimate to be anything but Byleth’s remarkable show of trust. Dimitri had snapped lances in half with a single touch. He’d bent spoons, shattered swords; once, Ignatz asked him to move a solid marble bust almost as big as his upper body to the conservatory, and merely lifting the poor thing resulted in its cranium crumbling to dust. And here was Byleth unflinchingly placing his destructive scarred paws on such a vulnerable spot that Dimitri came too close to gasping out loud. 

“I like to touch myself like this,” she said breathlessly as she grabbed his pointer finger. Her eyes never left his even while using him to start rubbing circles into a little nub that had her panting. “And I want you to do that too.”

“I don’t want to hurt you…”

“I don’t mind getting rough. What matters right now is that we’re doing this together.”

She rose to shut Dimitri’s protests up with a kiss that curled his toes and stole the air from his lungs, body taut in his arms and eyes alight from the fire. This dangerous, sinuous being luxuriating between his legs—how on earth had their paths deigned to cross? Why was she so insistent on stepping on his heels, stubbornly clinging to his every move? What did Byleth see in him that made her completely willing to bare herself to him? 

Dimitri knew in his case that it was complete and utter love. 

Whether Byleth was a demon, mercilessly cleaving enemies in half, a prophet who received Sothis’ revelation just as Seiros once had, or simply a mortal who liked to invite others to tea and return their lost items, Dimitri knew he was hopelessly lost to her. Everything narrowed to this one stolen moment; he revelled in her gasps, in the slick sweatiness of her body as she gripped his hand and rode it. In the kisses they kept stealing from each other, soft, rough, fleeting, lingering. He never would have guessed he’d be led from trying to quell the phantoms in his ears to greedily drinking in Byleth’s noises, though he surprised himself with his own set of gasps. 

Best of all was her constant verbal stream. Byleth praised him, called him handsome, told him how much she enjoyed his touch as his hand slipped through her pink folds. Her choppy hair stuck to her brow and she cooed over his body, thanking him for being so gentle. Dimitris’ craving for affirmation nearly had him melting. 

“Your hair looks like gold in the fire,” Byleth moaned into his chest. “It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”

Whether or not he was a beast, a coward, an undeserving heir, or the liberator his supporters built him up as, all Dimitri knew was that he would do anything to burn those words permanently into his mind. If he was gold, then he wanted her as his shining silver, gleaming stalwart and proud as they marched their way to victory. 

Byleth came with his name on her tongue. 

The silence that followed brought a comfortable warmth with it. Dimitri’s breathing steadied, mindful of his sticky hand as the other clean one stroked her back. She curled her knees up to her chest with a soft hum. 

“T…thank you,” Dimitri mumbled, suddenly shy in the afterglow.

She seemed rather amused with him. “I hope you don’t mind me saying that I look forward to repeating this sometime soon.”

“W— _ what? _ Byleth, you can’t be serious—”

“If you don’t want to then I won’t push you into it. It’s just…after seeing Caspar and Ashe tonight, and then when they—well, you know,  _ that _ —I realised that I wanted something like that with you too. We’re at war and anything can happen. And then this whole situation just dropped into our laps, and I thought that, maybe, even if for just one night, there was a chance I could take advantage of an opportunity. In the end, it was really worth it.”

Dimitri studied her carefully; the constant smiles, despite him loving them so much, suddenly took on a more calculating meaning. “You didn’t have to put on such a performance.”

“But you liked it. And I’m happy when you’re happy.” 

He blushed and kissed Byleth and hugged her tighter, not knowing how to agree with her anymore than necessary. 

She excused herself on the pretext of preserving his dignity—”can’t let anyone see me slipping out of your room in the morning”—and, as much as Dimitri wanted to end the night wrapped up in the sheets whispering sweet nothings to each other followed by some cuddling, he had to agree.  _ Someone _ had thoughtfully left a full basin and fluffy white towels below the bedside table for their use. Dimitri had half a mind to thank Sylvain and whoever else his partners in crime were before strangling them for their embarrassingly thorough meddling. 

At least it meant he could kiss Byleth goodnight. 

“Can we sit together tomorrow at breakfast?” he asked quietly at his doorway. She was fully dressed by now, but kept her shoes off so that her socks would muffle the sound of her footsteps when walking back to her own quarters. 

“Of course.” Byleth gave him a shallow kiss. Oh, he could definitely get used to that. Maybe not in public, but knowing that they were at the kissing stage was just so exciting. “I’d rather you sleep in though. Some more rest would do you good.”

“And let you finish up all of Dedue’s cooking? Never.” 

She laughed—finally!—at Dimitri’s unexpected wittiness, and he preened, basking in the attention. “Don’t let me keep you awake then.”

“Sleep well,” Dimitri whispered at her retreating form. When he retired to bed, it was to pure, unbridled optimism: Fhirdiad and Arianrhod were back under their control. Their march towards Enbarr and Edelgard was secure now that the west fell to them, with soldiers and food and supplies guaranteed for the war effort. His friends were safe. And though the ghosts in his head still lingered, still hung around with their calls for blood and vengeance, Dimitri could try to mute their volume with memories of a soft smile and words that soothed his heart. 

  
  


* * *

“You did WHAT?”

Sylvain sported a bruise over his eye that ran down the length of his nose, sure to darken black and blue by tomorrow. Padded gauze held by a roll of bandaging pressed firmly against his nostrils. His cheeky grin looked anything but pained as he took in Ingrid’s outraged shout. 

“Just gave ‘em a push in the right direction,” Sylvain said, much too nonchalantly. “You’ll thank me later for it.”

He and the others retired to a private fire pit away from the main festivities to enjoy a quieter atmosphere; they roasted nuts and candied fruits over the flames, and Dedue brought Ashe’s supply of cider to accompany their snacks. Whatever merriment they’d managed to build up had been thoroughly spoiled by the revelation of Sylvain’s ‘master plan’ or however he called it, which only added volume to Ingrid’s anger. 

“You have no right to do—t- _ things _ like that! Butting into others’ personal lives…Sylvain, have you no sense of restraint at all?” Her shaking rattled the walnuts clasped tightly in her palm. 

The redhead scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Come on, Ingrid. As if you didn’t see them dancing around each other all night. No, wait, scratch that: all they did was sit and talk together at the high table. And Professor Byleth’s dopey grin was making me nauseous! All that sexual tension needed to be resolved  _ somehow _ .” 

“Oh, and you decided that you were the perfect person to help them do that, huh?” 

“You know me so well, I’m flattered! But don’t worry, I wasn’t going to leave my Master Plan to chance! I got a little help on the side.” 

Ingrid stared, increasingly incredulous, at Sylvain’s outstretched arm pointing out the rest of the guilty party: Dorothea, smiling prettily; Ferdinand, looking very proud of himself; and—

“Huh.” Sylvain scratched his head. “Could’ve sworn Ashe was with us just a minute ago.”

_ “ASHE?!” _ Ingrid spluttered. 

“Oh yeah, totally! He seemed very keen on helping out.”

Felix kept totally silent for the duration of Ingrid and Sylvain’s exchange, staring, unusually moody even for him, into the fire, jaw clenched tightly. Jumping to his feet abruptly, he took the time to spit out an insult. “This was stupid even for  _ you, _ Sylvain.”

Everyone watched him stomp off into the night. 

Dorothea broke the tension that followed, smoothing her hair down. “I don’t think anyone is in a position to deny that they got it bad—but they honestly really needed some help spitting it out.”

“Indeed! Tonight had to be the night! The potential for sparks to fly was too ripe for us to not seize our chance!” Ferdinand declared. If he had a tail to go with those silky, flowing locks of his, it surely would’ve wagged him right off the bench. 

“You can’t be serious,” Ingrid deadpanned. She looked to Petra, Annette, Mercedes and Dedue for support.

They made quite the charming visual contrast with the way they sat from smallest to tallest. As the saner ones of the lot, they acted as balances to strong personalities that could easily turn explosive; their opinions carried weight and everyone listened. Petra, having the strongest leadership qualities amongst them, spoke first. “Though perhaps meddling is not the answer…we want to see Prince Dimitri and Professor Byleth share their happiness.”

“Oh Petra, I knew you’d see reason! All that pining was just painful to watch!” Dorothea gushed.

The Brigidian princess frowned and knotted her eyebrows together. “‘Pining?’ They are…emulating trees?”

“I’ll explain that figure of speech later, dear.”

Mercedes retrieved a lightly charred nut from the fire’s edge, dusting off traces of wood-ash before cracking it into smaller fragments. “Whatever they do or do not, it’s important that we be supportive. They’re our friends, they deserve as much. Dimitri and Byleth should be able to count on us.”

Everyone nodded. 

“At least let’s propose a toast!” Annette beamed. “To their happiness.” 

“To their happiness,” the group echoed, raising their goblets of cider towards the dancing flames. 

Companionable quiet soon eased them into a casual lull full of soft conversation. With the disagreement forgotten, Sylvain and Ingrid traded snacks, Dedue engaged Petra in an in-depth explanation of their botanical stores, Ferdinand and Mercedes complimented Dorothea on her latest playwriting endeavours. And yet…

“Ashe still missing in action?” the songstress queried, looking around. 

“It seems as though Caspar has yet to make an appearance as well,” Dedue added. 

Sylvain gasped out loud. 

And in that moment, as if the writer composing their scene decided to drown them with a liberal amount of ruined subtlety, Felix returned. 

Sylvain was the first to greet him, but the devious curl of his lips suggested something afoot. “Feeling a little less emotionally constipated, my friend?” 

Felix stayed deathly silent. The wrinkled press of his brows, the tight set of his jaw, and the wide-eyed, bewildered look in his eyes betrayed an agitation so unlike him. No one breathed a single word as Felix ignored them, power-walking straight back to the castle’s interior as though his life depended on it. 

And then Sylvain laughed. And laughed. And laughed so long and so hard that his breathing turned old-dog wheezy and strained and he slapped his knee and fell off the bench in such a manner that the glimmering silver stars must have felt it too.

**Author's Note:**

> time to collaaaaaapse…and get to the other things that, uh, desperately need my attention…and my enormous wip/idea pile to boot hahaha…
> 
> (Seriously I found a new appreciation for Dimitri myself after Gronder and his paralogue, damn him and his feels!)


End file.
